Finding Home
by Abroma
Summary: DHr. Draco sets out on a quest to "find himself". Told through a series of short drabbles Not in chronological order .
1. Prelude

**First off, here's some information about this story: It is told through a series of drabbles that are kind-of-but-not-really in chronological order. There are three separate storylines (ish). There are going to be chapters like this one, which is almost completely dialogue, and these are in chronological order - that is, the next chapter that contains all dialogue will take place after this one, and so on. There are also chapters describing his relationship with Hermione, and these chapters are NOT in chronological order, they are just random snapshots of their time together. Thirdly, we follow Draco as he attempts to run away and "find himself", and these chapters will take place in order as well. Sorry if it's confusing! Let me know what you think!**

"What was the fight about?"

"I'm not sure exactly. A lot of things. She was very particular about everything."

"Does that bother you?"

"Sometimes, obviously. Or else I wouldn't have left."

"What kind of things is she so particular about?'

He huffed. "Stupid things, really. Keeping her black socks separate from her colored. Refusing to wear my favorite perfume of hers unless it was a special occasion. She didn't sleep in the same bed as me because she didn't like my comforter."

"You're smiling."

"So? Go mind your own business.'


	2. Draco

Draco didn't know where he was going. He just got on his broom, his belongings stowed away in a small bag attached to his hip – he had Hermione to thank for teaching him that – and flew, on and on until he couldn't recognize anything below him. He couldn't say what drove him to do it. Ultimately, it was the argument they had had the night before, but maybe it had been building up for months, years even, and he just never noticed.

He got a little bit of relief while in flight, the air hitting his face so quickly that the stinging sensation allowed him to forget about what he was doing and to stop wondering if it really was the right thing, or even what he wanted in the first place. Hermione always said that he thought too much, and not enough of those thoughts were put into words. _How will people know who you are_, she would say_, or what you want_. Not that it mattered to Draco.

It was a rash decision, he knew, leaving like this in the middle of the night. He felt a little self-conscious as it were, knowing that if anyone were to see him right now, it would look more than a little suspicious, especially given that it's _him_. He hadn't really thought about any other modes of transportation, thought, because surely none could be as effective at getting him somewhere completely isolated from anything he knew. And, as the thick forest gave way to a large lake, shimmering in the early dawn, he had no regrets. If anything, the view alone was worth it. It helped him clear his mind as well.

_You're okay,_ he recited to himself, over and over again. _You're free._


	3. Draco II

He had never flown for this long before, not even when he was an immature teenager committed to winning the Quidditch Cup at Hogwarts. Even when his eyelids were sliding down and he could barely stay awake, he kept flying. Eventually, through all the unawareness he held for his travel, the sunlight managed to break through his walls. He stopped, hovering in midair, and looked up. It must be at least noon. He had to have been flying for at least eight hours, and his body felt it. Even raising his hand to his eyes to block the light was a chore.

He sighed and looked down. He was over a large open field. He couldn't see a house anywhere, in any direction.

_Perfect._

He descended slowly – what was the rush? – and tumbled gently onto the grass. He laid there for a moment, getting himself used to the feeling of solid ground again, before pushing himself over onto his back and sighing in contentment. He could feel the heat and the sunlight penetrating his eyelids, a dim red from behind his closed eyes. There was no one here to nag him, or make him feel guilty for anything, or rushing him out the door, or _anything_. A thought slipped through his mind that this must be what perfection is, laying here in the sunlight, nothing else for miles. Just him, and the sunlight, and the gentle breeze.


	4. Draco and Hermione

He could tell she was angry from the metaphorical fire emanating from their room. If he had to guess, he would say she was sitting at her desk, door and windows locked, scribbling in her blasted diary, maybe with her friend, some bint from her department at the ministry, her hair falling every which way and her eyes flashing.

He stifled a groan as he pictured it. It turned out to be kind of sexy, actually. He squeezed his eyes shut to get rid of the thought, because that surely wouldn't help anything. What had he done now? He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately, and then she was standing right in front of him, her hand on her hip, and otherwise exactly as he had predicted it. But he tried to suppress that thought, because god forbid he thought she was _attractive_ when she had a bone to pick.

"What do you want?" she said.

Even her _voice_…he was debating either saying whatever she wanted to hear and getting right down to the make-up sex, or just taking her right then and letting the adrenaline take over.

"You're mad at me."

"That's why I married you," she said, "because you're so goddamned _observant_." And then she slammed the door.

"Well what did I _do_?" He called through the door. He hadn't even been home for the past few days – he had been with his mother at the manor, which he told her long beforehand so he knew that she knew about it.

When she didn't respond, he took matters into his own hands and barged into the room – _their_ room. A brief look of surprise flashed across her face, but quickly turned into rage.

"I didn't slam the door as an _invitation_, Draco," she seethed.

"I don't care, Hermione," he replied evenly. He thanked Merlin that she didn't come any closer to him, because he was already becoming slightly aroused. He really needed to keep some distance between them.

She gritted her teeth. "Fine," she said, avoiding his eyes. And then it all seemed to slip away, her mask of anger into the face of vulnerability. "You couldn't even owl me?"

"Owl you for _what_?"

She blinked. "You forgot," she said.

"I – what? Just tell me what you're thinking, for _once_. You're always so _fucking_ vague and then you expect me –"

"Alright," she conceded, standing up. He noticed immediately that the anger was back. "You want specifics? Yesterday was our anniversary, and you forgot. So don't come in here and accuse _me_ of not being good enough when _you_ can't even remember _one_ date!"

Draco paused. He knew she was right, but something about her tirade had stuck out to him. "You don't think I'm good enough."

She bit her lip and looked away. "I didn't say that."

"You implied it," he said. "Close enough, anyway." She didn't say anything, only stared up at him, a pitying expression on her face.

And if he were being completely honest with himself, it nearly killed him.


	5. Interlude

"You've got to be kidding. Tarot cards?"

"They can help you find your direction."

"I'm not lost," he scoffed. "Or at least, I don't want to be found. Not yet."

"You seem proud of the fact that you've left your wife."

"I wouldn't say _proud_, but I am glad for a little break."

"Why is that?"

"She was always too good for me. Breaks you down after a while. I haven't felt this good in a long time."

"Have you told her?"

He shook his head. "It wouldn't do any good anyway. She would only try to _help_. Even if I told her not to."

"It sounds like she just cares a lot about you."

He leaned back in his chair. "It's not specific to me. She cares about everything with a heartbeat. That's why she's too good."


	6. Draco III

It felt like he had been asleep forever when he finally opened his eyes. The sky was dark, so although he knew it must be night, he had no way of telling just how far into the night he was, or how much was left. It felt liberating, not being under the restraints of a structured sleeping schedule.

He didn't get up – he just continued to lay there, his arms behind his head, looking up at the stars. It had been a long time since he had done it. The last time that he had deliberately taken the time to look at the stars was his sixth year in the astronomy tower at Hogwarts, and then it had been quite so carefree as it was now.

He tried to pick out certain constellations from the mass of lights shimmering above him. He was never very good at astronomy in school, and apparently he hadn't gotten much better with age. After a minute or so, he started making his own constellation. That one looked like the cat the Hermione had gotten for their flat without his permission. That one looked like Hermione's desk, pile after pile of books, but none that Draco could recognize because of _Draco, don't go near my desk! _And that extra bright star shining directly above him reminded him of the flash in Hermione's eyes whenever she was upset.

He shook his head and rubbed his forehead absentmindedly with the backs of his knuckles. He _had_ to stop thinking about her. It wasn't healthy – at least, he couldn't see how it was. Maybe it just hadn't sunk in yet that he left. That he would probably never see her again. The thought of such a drastic change scared him a little bit – after five years of marriage, he had grown used to her constant nit-picking and annoying structure and frizzy hair.


	7. Interlude II

"Was it always like that?"

"Like what?"

"This nightmare you're describing your marriage to be."

"No – well, _she _was always this way. I used to like it. I don't know why."

"What happened?"

"We got married. It's a lot different when you have to put up with it day in and day out. We started fighting a lot." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "She even replaced the tie rack that my mother had gotten me. Said it didn't match the décor of her _closet_, and threw it out."

"It was important to you, then."

"It was the last thing I had from my mother. Other than a photograph."

"Did your wife know how much it meant to you?"

He laughed hollowly. "Are you kidding? That's why she did it."


End file.
